


SOMEONE WANTS TO CUT A HOLE IN YOU AND FUCK YOU THROUGH IT, BUDDY.

by blairkitsch



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Animal Death, Attempted Murder, M/M, Murder, Skinning, dennis is a gein who wishes he was a bundy, keeping the skins, knives n shit, man just the standard bullshit you might expect with serial killer dennis reynolds, you know. your standard serial killer nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blairkitsch/pseuds/blairkitsch
Summary: An account of the last 24 hours of Dennis Reynolds’s career as a serial killer.





	SOMEONE WANTS TO CUT A HOLE IN YOU AND FUCK YOU THROUGH IT, BUDDY.

**Author's Note:**

> happy v-day enjoy my love letter to serial killers everywhere and my hate letter to dennis reynolds, specifically. title is from [this jenny holzer piece](http://www.contemporaryartdaily.com/2015/10/group-show-at-spruth-magers/7-jenny-holzer-someone-wants-to-cut-a-hole-in-you-text-living-1980-82-1981/).
> 
> this takes place in a universe thats most narratively convenient to me wherein mac is out and dennis's double life is handwaved.
> 
> hit me up on the online @blairkitsch on twitter and at peefight.tumblr.com!! i havent been in a fandom in over two years and would love to chat it up with more people interested in this horrible bullshit haha

Mac washes himself in the Paddy’s bathroom sink that morning as best he can, hours before the bar is meant to open. The cold, empty eeriness of half-lit bar at nine in the morning sends chills down Mac’s spine even when he figures it shouldn’t. It’s the expectation of someone else sitting behind the closed door of the stall reflected in the mirror met with knowledge that no one should be that sets Mac’s heart pounding harder than he’d willingly admit. It’s alien, sure, but he’s seen more alien things in his life. He’s been in scarier bathrooms than this before; he woke up to one this morning. The heavy metal smell of blood, hides to be tanned hung where the shower curtain used to be, two legs hanging daintily over the edge of the tub, crossed at the ankle, attached to nothing. 

He knows Dennis will have it cleaned up like nothing ever happened when they return home from work together later that day, he knows he should have expected it from the scene last night, newspaper thrown angrily onto the kitchen table sporting the words SCHUYLKILL RIVER KILLER, _can you believe it, Mac, they might as well call me the Green River Killer 2, living in Ridgway’s shadow, lazy pieces of shit, I’ll show them the Schuylkill River Killer, I’ll show them the fucking Schuylkill River Butcher, goddamn it—_ and yet Mac can’t help but feel a bit shaken by having to start his day with the aftermath of Dennis’s night.

When he and Dennis were children and it was just dead crows and skinned roadkill, Mac breathed easy, not so much of a flicker of anxiety in his chest. He remembers a conversation he’d had with Dee when they were seventeen, dragged privately into her room, her voice low and concerned, her expressed pulled in worry. Mac had been afraid that Dee was trying to make some kind of move on him, but when the conversation moved into psychopathy he’d become less sure. Dee had read something in her high school psych class.

 _Macdonald triad_ , she’d said, as if it was supposed to mean something to him, and responds to his blank stare with an explanation. _Bedwetting, arson, killing animals. Dennis is definitely doing one of those, and I don’t think he’s above setting shit on fire to get off, either._

 _Are you telling me that Dennis is pissing himself?_ Mac pressed, suddenly forced to calculate how willing he was to continue hanging out with someone who did.

 _No, idiot_ , Dee said, socking Mac in the arm with more force than justified by her twig arm. Reynolds’s strength. _Remember the crows?_  

 _Oh_ , Mac replied, plainly. Then, after a long moment of thought, _I still don’t get it._

 _It’s only a matter of time until it’s human heads he’ll be ripping off with his teeth, Mac!_ Dee yelled, voice shrill. _What don’t you get?_

_You’re getting all crazy again, Dee. It’s just Dennis being Dennis. Besides, there’s no way he could actually rip anyone’s head off, like, with his teeth._

Dee threw her hands up at that. _Whatever_ , she’d said, exasperated. _When his mugshot ends up on national news in twenty years, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you._

Presently, the memory of that conversation rings in Mac’s ears as he inspects his reflection in the dirty mirror, trying desperately to interpret the expression on his own face. Dee had been right, of course. He recalls Dennis bragging about the fire he lit on Art Sloan’s lawn, and yet... here he was, still living under the same roof as him, still keeping his mouth shut for him, still playing pretend with him. Despite the blood and bodies, still thinking of him as his best friend.

Crows still surround Dennis every time he walks through his old neighborhood, screaming at him for the blood at his hands, plotting their revenge, unwilling to forget. The only ones to truly recognize the warning signs. Mac thinks, if Dennis is lucky, he’ll get his eyes pecked out. Mac thinks it, but he doesn’t really mean it.

 

* * *

 

Dennis becomes so even-tempered afterwards, amiable to almost an unnerving degree. Well, not “almost.” It is truly unnerving, because of what it takes for Dennis to behave, but Mac has forced himself into the position of ignorance for his friend’s sake, so when he gossips with Charlie in the back corner of the bar after Dennis strides in, shoots even Frank a goddamn grin, he says “almost." 

“What do you think it is?” Charlie hisses to Mac, shooting sidelong glances at Dennis and clutching a broom in his hands as a cover for them to be huddled in the back of the bar. As if anyone would ever investigate their inactivity, but Mac still appreciates the effort at stealth. “It’s creepy, man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face do... that as much as it’s been doing it.”

Mac knits his eyebrows together, watching Dennis chat easily with patrons as he pours drinks. “What, smile?”

“Yeah, man!” Charlie has given up on keeping his voice down and Mac wishes he hadn’t. “It’s really starting to freak me out. Either he’s, like, in love or some shit, or he’s finally snapped, and whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it!”

Mac swallows down the truth. It burns his throat like bile. “Yeah, I... have no idea,” He dodges Charlie’s gaze, even though it seems more or less uninterested in him. Mac hates lying, it doesn’t come as easy to him as it does to Dee and Dennis. “I haven’t seen anything.”

Charlie shrugs, satisfied with that answer. “Maybe he’s into pills and shit now,” He turns to Mac, face suddenly deathly serious. “If you find any, you gotta share, alright? No hogging.”

“Uh,” Mac replies, intelligently. “Sure, yeah man. Whatever you say.”

“So,” Dee’s voice from behind him nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He turns to find her taking a pull from a bottle of beer, staring at him with a knowing sort of disinterest, like she’s figured out what’s been going on for weeks now, just waiting for everyone else to realize. Mac’s gut clenches at her gaze, terrified that her astuteness carried on from high school. He knows how to deflect, but he’s unsure if he has it in him to deny outright.

“So, what?” He tries, hoping his nerves don’t show through the two words.

“So,” she repeats, as if with the patience of a saint. “You and Dennis finally start banging?”

Mac balks at that. “Wait, what?” There is a half a second where he considers rolling with it, using that as an excuse to cover Dennis’s ass, but he thinks better of it. Dennis would have his head, for sure, probably literally. “What the fuck, no.”

She cocks an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You mean to tell me that... you come out, and the first thing he does when the two of you get some time alone _isn’t_ to jump your goddamn bones?”

Mac clings to the frustration bubbling up inside of him, an easier emotion than guilt. “Yeah, Dee, that’s exactly what I mean to tell you.” It’s the unfortunate truth. Dennis had other preoccupations than jumping Mac’s bones. “Besides, he’s not even my, you know, type.”

“Well, I don’t know about _that_ ,” Charlie says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dee adds, nodding seriously. “As long as I’ve known both of you—”

Mac throws his hands up in exasperation. “Oh, my God, I am not the one on trial here!” He says before starting to walk away. “Also, I do not care!”

Aside from Dee and Charlie trying to rope Mac into their gossiping and scheming regarding Dennis’s chipper attitude, the day continues more or less without incident. Mac is pretty sure there are better ways to regulate his moods, but bloodshed did keep Dennis from escalating situations between the gang. On the drive back to the apartment, Dennis apologizes for the mess in the bathroom, cooly and evenly. Mac stays as silent as he can.

 

* * *

 

 _“Oh, holy shit.”_  

_It’s the only thing Mac can manage to say when he pushes Dennis’s bedroom door open and bears witness to the scene before him. Mac had gotten over the whole bursting in on Dennis while he was banging thing after he came out, since “wanting to see some tits” ceased being a good coverup for “wanting to see his buddy goin’ to town.” Truthfully, Mac had no idea Dennis was even in, let alone had someone over, let alone..._

_Dennis stares at him, eyes wide and wild and bright and terrified. “Don’t call the cops,” is the first thing Mac hears him say. His voice is shaking; his whole body is shaking._

_“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, man.” The words feel like an under reaction even as they’re tumbling out of his mouth, but, to his credit, Mac still isn’t completely convinced what he’s seeing isn’t a dream or a complete hallucination or something else existing outside of reality. “What... happened?”_

_Dennis stares blankly at Mac, before turning that same look to the mess he’s made, lying prone under him on the floor. “If—if—if I’m being perfectly honest, here, Mac,” Dennis stammers, voice calm, but the adrenaline rushing through him betraying that, “I—I—I can’t say it was an accident.”_

_“Oh, goddamnit, Dennis.” Mac is shaking too, now. Maybe he has been this whole time and he’s only just noticed because it’s getting worse than Dennis’s tremors. He needs to sit down, he’s getting lightheaded, but the idea of getting any closer to her sends his stomach turning. He clutches the doorframe in order to stay upright. “What the_ fuck _is that supposed to mean?”_

_“I’ll explain,” Dennis says, quickly, looking back at Mac. “I promise I’ll explain everything, Mac, if you don’t call the cops and help me hide the body. I can’t do prison, you know that. I can’t do death row.” Dennis swallows. “Please.”_

_Mac shifts his gaze from Dennis’s eyes to the woman underneath him. Blonde. Maybe 5’7’’ in heels. Hands zip-tied above her head around the leg of the bed. Fake tits standing upright and the kitchen knife sticking straight up between them. Blood and sinew and muscle where her face should be; made up skin lying beside it. And then Dennis. Wild-eyed and trembling and covered in someone else’s blood, staring at Mac like he’s the only savior he has. He is._

_“Yeah,” Mac chokes out, feeling far away from the person signing this verbal contract. “Okay.”_

 

* * *

 

When Dennis chats all friendly as he’s unlocking the door, Mac lets him. To Dennis’s credit, when the door swings open the space is immaculate, and the heavy stench of blood has left the apartment, and decay has yet to set in, and it’s just easier to let Dennis talk. Something whispers to Mac, reminding him that’s how this all happened in the first place, and Mac pretends he never heard it. 

Dennis throws his keys on the kitchen table and speaks without looking at Mac, his long fingers interested in the grain of the wood instead. “You, Dee, and Charlie were getting pretty friendly this morning, hm?”

Mac’s impulse is to get on his knees and promise that he didn’t say anything, not a word, but he swallows that idea down. There has always been something dangerous about showing weakness to Dennis, and three phantom scratches burn hot on his cheek. “I mean, yeah,” Back-sass seems like a heavy risk, too, but Dennis seems keen on pretending nothing has changed. Mac tries his hand at doing the same. “Of course I was. They’re, like, my friends, dude.”

“I heard my name come up.” Dennis turns smoothly to face Mac at last, but Mac wishes he hadn’t. While Dennis’s body language reads as relaxed, hands resting on the table behind him to support his leaning, face inquisitive at most, there is something unhinged behind his eyes, and Mac wouldn’t recognize it if it weren’t so goddamn familiar. He curses himself, silently. He thought he’d at least get a week of smooth sailing.

“Oh, uh,” Mac coughs, at first feigning embarrassment to hide the fear, and then finding real embarrassment there when he realizes what he has to say. “Charlie and Dee, they, uh,” Mac laughs weakly, doesn’t make eye contact. “They wanted to know if we were banging.”

Dennis hums in response, stepping over to the fridge and pulling a beer out—two. He stares Mac dead in the eyes as he holds one out for him. Mac stills his shaking hand before taking it from him. The mere accusation would have kept Mac up for weeks a couple years ago, but he feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest at the thought of that. No, no. Everyone knows that Mac is in stupid gay love with his best friend. They have no idea of the bigger problem.

“So, what did you say to that?” Dennis asks, too smoothly, too evenly.

Mac shrugs, pops open his beer before taking a swig. “The truth. We haven’t been.”

Dennis sets his beer down on the table, he hadn’t even opened it, and approaches Mac with all too much grace, given the situation. There’s a hunger in his eyes to match the crazy and Mac sends out a quick prayer regarding his immortal soul. He places a careful hand on Mac’s chest and Mac freezes—they both freeze. Mac out of fear and Dennis—well, Dennis is probably calculating Mac’s heart rate before shooting a sharp grin at him. “We could, you know.”

Mac isn’t completely sure what exact reaction Dennis is looking for with this move, but a tentative step backwards and a shocked, “Yo, what the fuck, dude,” clearly wasn’t really cutting it.

Dennis narrows his eyes, any softness leaving his face. “Isn’t this what you want, Mac?”

Mac doesn’t know what to say to that. In another life, yes, yes, of course that’s what he’d wanted to hear from Dennis. In another universe the very touch of Dennis’s hand on Mac’s chest would have made his head buzz with affection instead of his blood run cold. Dennis is closing in on him, now, and Mac is backing up in kind. Somewhere out there, there is a place where something went slightly different and a slightly different Mac is letting himself be pushed against the wall by a slightly different Dennis with excitement.

“It used to be,” is all Mac manages, and it seems like that’s the wrong answer. Dennis tears the bottle from Mac’s hand and sends it careening onto the hardwood floor, the crash of shattering glass startling a yelp out of Mac.

“So that’s it, huh?” Dennis shrieks, jabbing a finger into Mac’s chest. “Twenty-something goddamn years of you gawking at me and I _finally_ find the thing that fills this _nothing_ inside of me and you all of a sudden decide that you’re _too good_ for me, huh?” Dennis delivers a final shove and Mac’s back collides with the wall. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

Mac’s ears are ringing, trying to make sense of what he’s hearing. “You’re killing people, Dennis! You killed someone last night!”

Dennis stares at Mac for a moment before his face falls, anger giving not to some dead empty blankness but to something else entirely, something Mac isn’t sure if he’s ever seen worn by Dennis before. His gaze falls, too. It’s worry. “This morning, too,” he says, quietly, grabbing at the hem of Mac’s shirt like it’ll keep him afloat. “After you left for the bar. The landlord sent a maintenance guy to fix the bathtub drain. I forgot I even called that in. I didn’t want to get caught, I—” He squeezes his eyes shut, tugs harder on Mac’s shirt, close enough now to rest his head on Mac’s shoulder, but he doesn’t. His voice gets tighter as he continues. “No. I could have just turned him away. Said that it wasn’t a good time. I _wanted_ to fucking kill him, gut him open for thinking he could expose me. So, I did. No one is allowed to bear witness to me.”

Dennis breathes in, harshly, and looks up at Mac, eyes wide and red and wet. He’s crying, Mac notes distantly, dark splotches of mascara running down his face. “No one, except you.”

“What?”

“I think I’m going to do it again tonight,” Dennis’s voice is shaking. Mac can feel Dennis’s panicked breaths on his face. “It’s not doing it anymore, Mac. I know I need something more. I’m scared of what that might be.”

“Dennis...” Mac breathes. Something deep in his heart aches and wants to pull Dennis into an embrace, comfort him from himself. “You need to turn yourself in, man.”

Dennis shakes his head, lets out a horrible single sob. “I can’t.”

“If—if you turn yourself in, and plead guilty, maybe you’ll be let off easier,” Mac tries, desperately, trying to take advantage of this moment of clarity, trying to wrack his brain for whatever legal knowledge he has rattling around in there. It’s not a lot.

“Four counts of murder, three counts of desecrating a corpse,” Dennis shakes his head, unable to finish that sentence. They both know where it leads. “Plus, they’ll put you away for being an accessory. I... I can’t do that to you, Mac.”

Mac bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping at Dennis that he already _did_ do that him, the second he begged Mac to help him heave that suitcase into the river. It’s not a helpful thing to say, and... besides, Mac could have feasibly said “no.”

Dennis has pulled himself completely flush against Mac at this point, and Mac can feel Dennis’s own heart beating against his chest. “You have to help me, Mac. Please.”

Mac could have said “no,” he could have said it hundreds and thousands of times during the decades he’s known and followed Dennis, but he never would have. Mac stands on the precipice with Dennis, on the end of the Earth that he’s gone to with Dennis pulling him along. Mac wraps his arms around Dennis, ready to fall off the edge with him, and Dennis doesn’t flinch.

“How?” Mac breathes.

“Just... be here, with me,” Dennis says, after a moment of thought. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees, nodding. Anything, anything. “Okay.” Dennis never breaks eye contact.

Mac doesn’t recognize it as pain for the first few seconds, his brain trying to make sense of the signals being sent to it by his body. It isn’t until Dennis breathes in shakily, pupils now blown wide and face flushed that something white hot and searing blossoms on Mac’s thigh. Mac’s thoughts scramble, trying to make sense of it all as something twists—it’s a knife, it’s Dennis’s knife, oh _God_ , and Dennis punctuates the motion with soft lips pressed against Mac’s own before pulling away entirely, knife and all.

Mac staggers to the floor, injured leg no longer willing to hold him upright, and stares up at Dennis as he cackles above him, bloodied hunting knife clutched in his hand. “God,” Dennis laughs. “You are _so easy_ , Mac.”

Dennis drops the blade to the ground with a clatter and wipes away the mascara tears from his face with all the interest of removing slept in makeup as Mac watches, grabbing at the wound soaking his pant leg in blood, intensifying in pain.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Mac chokes out, voice high and strangled. In other circumstances, Mac could have easily taken Dennis down, would have already, but Dennis got him deep and the shock combined with the blood loss is making his head swim dangerously. So, he opts instead for staring wide-eyed at the figure looming over him.

Dennis rolls his eyes at that, sagging his body as if the question itself were a physical burden. Mac can’t help but scowl at his dramatics. “ _Ugh_ , Mac, you moron, what do you think I’m doing?” Dennis grabs the unopened beer bottle from the table by its neck and gestures at Mac with it. “I’m gonna kill you. Not—hey, hey, hey,” Dennis closes in on Mac as he tries to scrabble away at that, holding the bottle more like a weapon, now. “Calm down, sit still. Not _now_ , obviously. That would be a huge waste, you deserve to be the final act. Isn’t that nice, Mac? To be so special as to be the climax of the evening?”

Mac winces at how Dennis says climax, like he’s about to bust just from the idea. He certainly looks like it, eyes heavy-lidded and breath shaky. Mac swallows. “Not really crazy about it, if I’m being honest,” he replies, trying and failing dramatically to keep his voice even.

Dennis’s mouth quirks in distaste. “Well, tough, because you don’t get a say. As a matter of fact, no one gets a say, not tonight,” Dennis throws his arms open wide, voice becoming high and untethered with hysteria as he continues. “No, no. Tonight, _Dennis Reynolds is God_ . And you know what? I’ve fuckin’ had it. Had it with Dee’s whiney bird ass, had it with Charlie’s incomprehensible bullshit, had it with Frank’s...” Dennis gestures wildly, trying to find the word. “Everything. Fucking had it with _you_ ,” he points an accusing beer bottle at Mac, “and the way you’ve been looking at me for these past twenty goddamn years. So, as God, I’ve decided to end the goddamn world! And I’m taking you motherfuckers all down with me.”

Dennis brings the bottle shattering against Mac’s skull. Violent punctuation before everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

_Dennis comes back from his first year of college looking like someone tore open his chest and ripped something out from inside of him, but he was too blackout to remember who it was and what they took. When Mac sees him again for the first time, they meet eyes but Dennis isn’t looking back, isn’t looking anywhere. His sharp, toothy grin doesn’t even flirt with the hollowness of his gaze. When he says Mac’s name, his throat is full of gravel. When he waves in his direction, his hand shakes._

_Dennis doesn’t get much better as they get deeper into the summer, but he still tags along with Mac and Charlie for the three months, letting them use his fake ID to grab a case of Natty Lite from the local Wawa and smoking weed with them in the Kelly basement._

_“I think what Gein’s biggest mistake was,” Dennis starts, gesturing at Mac to pass the bowl and lighter his way. The fractionated sentence hangs in the air as Dennis presses the bowl to his lips and struggles with the lighter for a second before taking a hit. Mac watches him as he holds his breath, and he swears that Dennis just does this shit so he can get the room’s attention trained on him for as long as possible, and it’d be annoying if it worked. Mac glances at Charlie and finds him on his back, hands folded under his head, staring at something on the ceiling. Mac doubts he’s listening, but that doesn’t stop Dennis from blowing out smoke and continuing. “Sanitation.”_

_“Right on, man,” Charlie says dreamily from the floor, and Mac just furrows his eyebrows together, grabbing the bowl and lighter away from Dennis._

_“What?” Mac presses._

_Dennis chases the hit with a swig of cheap beer. “You know, Ed Gein. Barely a serial killer but admirable in his craftiness. Lampshades out of human skin and bowls out of human skulls—resourceful,” Dennis gestures at Mac with his can before taking another swig, mouth peeling into the closest thing to a genuine smile Mac has seen him wear all summer._

_“Man, shut the fuck up,” Mac says, shaking his head. “You know I’m not high enough for your bullshit.”_

_“Take another hit, then,” Dennis says with impatience, pushing the bowl closer to Mac, who stares at him with suspicion but ultimately does as he is told while Dennis continues. “The whole ‘mommy’ thing was a bit obnoxious, but it’s about the spirit of the thing, right? Just a man and his various flesh,” Dennis gestures vaguely, “things.”_

_“You’re so goddamn annoying, man,” Mac says. “Hand me a beer.”_

_Dennis ignores him, ignores anything other than his own voice. “The problem here is how he kept it all. It’s the smell, Mac,” Dennis nudges Mac with his beer can and Mac scoots out of reach from him. “First of all, the kitchen was covered in grease which has less to do with bodies and more to do with the fact that he was such a goddamn disgusting moron. Now, let’s say I was Gein,” Dennis says, gesturing to himself. “Even though I see myself more as a Bundy, really—”_

_“You what?”_

_“Don’t interrupt me,” Dennis snaps._

_“Just pass me a goddamn beer if you’re gonna keep going on about this shit,” Mac sighs, and Dennis rolls his eyes before pulling a now-lukewarm can from the case and tossing it to Mac who catches it, but just barely._

_“_ There _, you whiney bitch,” Dennis says. “Happy?”_

_“No,” Mac grumbles into the open can before taking a swig. “But continue.”_

_Dennis arches an irritated eyebrow at Mac but he does, indeed, continue. “If I were Gein I like to think I’d take more pride in what I was making, you know? Put together a little museum for the cops when they show up, all clean and neutral like one, too. You gotta think about presentation for when you get caught.”_

_“Wait,” Mac says, leaning in closer to Dennis. “You’re telling me that this fuckin’ nutso serial killer fantasy—”_

_“Okay, Mac, Gein was not a serial killer—” Dennis starts, but Mac puts a hand up, shutting him up more effectively than he had anticipated._

_“You plan on getting caught?”_

_Dennis snorts at that, rolling his eyes. “Uh, of course I’d get caught. Everyone who’s anyone gets caught. You don’t get a legacy, a_ real _legacy, not some Zodiac bullshit, if you don’t get caught.”_

_Dennis smirks at somewhere in the middle distance as if he just sprouted the most insightful bullshit in the world and Mac stares back at him, incredulous. An uncomfortable tension Mac is sure only he feels hangs heavy in the air until Charlie speaks up._

_“Hey, uh, Dennis?” He asks, not moving from his place on the floor._

_“Yeah?” Dennis replies._

_“Promise me you’re not gonna start killing people and makin’ lamps and shit outta human skin, alright? I really don’t thinking the gang dynamic could handle that kinda pressure.”_

_Dennis lets out a laugh at that, a real one. It shocks Mac and makes Charlie sit up as Dennis pats him on the leg. “Yeah, of course, kid.”_

 

* * *

 

The evening is flirting with midnight when Dennis  shoves his way into Dee’s apartment, full of intent and startling her out of her reality television daze. Dee blinks at him, shocked and indignant. No knock, no greeting, no _hey, Dee, it’s super good to see you, is this a good time for you, or should I barge into your apartment tomorrow some time?_ No, none of that, never any of that, just a blank stare and an impatient question.

“Are you alone?”

Typical. Dee rolls her eyes. “ _Obviously_ I’m alone, asshole,” she replies, gesturing to the whole of the empty apartment. Dennis’s gaze flickers around, halfheartedly validating her claim. “How else am I gonna spend my Sunday evenings, hm?”

Like the good goddamn person she is, she saved him the effort of setting up the mean-spirited jab, attempting to expedite the process of getting him out of her goddamn apartment as quickly as possible, but he doesn’t even blink. “With me,” he says, instead. “Put on some pants and meet me in the car.”

“What?” she asks, baffled, but Dennis is already turning back to whence he came. “What are we doing? Where are we going?”

“Out,” he says, turning back to her, shooting her a grin that sends a chill of anxiety through her. God, he’s in a mood again, isn’t he. “I figured you might need it. It’s been a rough week.”

Dee narrows her eyes at that. “Has it?”

Dennis shrugs. “Isn’t every week?” He turns back towards the door, waving at her without enthusiasm. “Be quick.”

Dee squawks unintelligibly at Dennis’s exiting form, only to be predictably ignored. After he shuts the door behind him she stares at the empty space he left behind before doubling over and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to force the headache building behind them away. She had _plans_ , goddamnit. Lights out at midnight. A full eight hours of restful sleep. Hell, if she was lucky she’d wake up without the aching bones and head to remind her that she’s not as resilient as she was ten years ago. Dee groans and kicks the empty air in front of her before rising to her feet.

No, none of them are as young as they were ten years ago but they still keep doing this bullshit, keep dragging each other around at fuck-all in the morning. Dee strips off her pajama pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor before making her way to her bedroom to rummage around for something clean to replace them. Hell, she didn’t even know Dennis was scheming, and alone no less. She shrugs to herself as she struggles into her jeans. Maybe Mac’s waiting in the car. Unlike him, but maybe.

Or maybe the two of them broke up again. She rolls her eyes at the thought, slapping around on her dresser for her wallet without looking, before her hands find and close around it. They broke up again and Dennis is here to take her to a bar that neither of them can afford so he can bitch at her for two hours and then make her cover the tab when they get rudely shoved out at bar close. She pockets the wallet and slips on some shoes before heading out the door. Still, it’s really not that bad, all things considered. She’s done worse for her brother.

She’d do worse for her brother.

When Dee finally makes it out of her apartment, she finds Dennis waiting patiently, leaning up against his Range Rover (parked illegally, she notes). He flicks his wrist in a pantomime of checking the time on a watch he doesn’t have the money to afford before shooting an accusing glare in her direction.

“It took you long enough, Deandra,” he says.

“Oh, please, I spend my whole life waiting for you,” she scoffs, walking around the car to the passenger door. “I think I’m entitled to keep you as long as I goddamn want.” She yanks it open, smirking at the way he scowls at the aggressive gesture as she slides into the car.

Dennis grumbles as he slips into the car after her. “I don’t exactly have all night, Dee. Some of us have things going on in our lives.” He stabs the key into the ignition like it had personally wronged him. Dee quirks an eyebrow at that.

“I thought you were taking me out tonight, or whatever. What possible... _things_ ,” she throws aggressive air quotes around the word, “could you have going on in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, my god, _Dee_.” He throws his head back with drama. “I _am_ taking you out tonight, Jesus. But I _won’t_ if you keep asking goddamn questions!” With that, he throws the car into drive and sends them hurtling forward.

Dee doesn’t buy that. She’s been able to sniff out Dennis’s lies since fifth grade, at least. With some room for error, naturally, but Dennis seems too distracted to really put his back into the deception, and Dee would be fooling herself if she said her interest wasn’t piqued by the half hearted attempt to pull the wool over her eyes. There’s something juicy lying at the other end of this encounter, something Dennis doesn’t want readily available but something he can no longer keep just to himself anymore. Which naturally means more blackmail material for Dee, and she won’t be caught dead turning down an opportunity like that. So she relents, leaning casually against the passenger side door and watching Dennis’s barely suppressed rage flicker over his face as he drives.

Her excitement starts to severely wane when, instead of in front of some dive bar or strip club or the apartment of a chick he banged, Dennis puts the car in park in front of the shore of the Schuylkill river. Dee shoot a glance into the back seat for maybe a hidden 24-pack of beer or a couple of bottles of hard liquor, hoping desperately that Dennis didn’t just bring her out here to enjoy nature _sober_ or anything, but the search is fruitless.

“So,” she says, turning back to her brother, frustration building up again, “what was the plan, again?”

“Get out of the car, Dee,” he says, voice icy.

“What, why? So you can drive away and leave me here to get murdered?” She shoots back, accusingly. “What’s your angle here, Reynolds?”

Dennis barks a laugh at that, but there’s no humor in his voice. “Get out of the fucking car, Deandra.”

Dee blinks, taken aback by Dennis’s sudden intensity. “Jesus,” she says before pushing the door open and climbing out. “Fine, dude. Are you happy?”

Dennis gets out of the car after her, and Dee can’t help but feel a bit relieved as she watches him shut the door. Whatever bullshit he’s got planned here tonight, at least he’s not going to leave her to face it alone. “Look,” he says, sighing. “I’m sorry for being so harsh.” He sounds genuine; it’s the most startling thing to happen this evening. He extends his arm, beckoning her closer. “Come here, sis. I wanna show you something.”

Dee stares at him for a moment, trying to break through his impenetrable expression. She relents, though, eventually crossing her arms in front of her in order to smother the hesitance in her chest and making her way over to him. As soon as she’s within grasp, Dennis wraps his open arm over her shoulder and faces her towards the shore of the river.

Dee scans the shoreline. “So, what am I looking for here, hm?” She asks, eyes not catching on anything in particular.

“It’ll be clear in a moment,” Dennis promises. “Have you been keeping up with the news recently?”

She turns to look at him, pissed at being yanked around further. “What are you talking about?"

“All good things to those who wait, Dee, _please_ ,” he says, with exaggerated patience. “You know there’s serial killer active here in Philly, right?”

Dee startles at that. “Jesus Christ, Dennis,” she hisses. “You cannot start asking me about the local serial murderer while we’re standing next to the goddamn river in the middle of the night. Someone’s gonna get stabbed and it’s _not_ gonna be me, thanks.”

Dennis ignores her. “I heard he disposes of his bodies in suitcases, chucks ‘em into the river. Did you know that? Nothing too fancy, just something you could pick up for fifteen bucks at a Goodwill.”

Dee tries to step away, but Dennis holds her shoulder tight, keeping her close. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about? You’re really starting to freak—”

It’s green when it catches her eye. That’s probably why she didn’t notice it before, the blocky, inorganic shape blending in with the tall grass and weeds easily without the aid of daylight. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dee breathes. She does not miss how Dennis snorts at that.

“What was that, Sweet Dee?” The smile in his voice is making her grit her teeth. “Is there something in the weeds you’d like to investigate?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Dennis,” she shoots back, stepping away from him. This time he lets her. “I swear to god. Don’t fuck with me.”

Dee should run. She should get the hell out of here and just wait for whatever mood Dennis is in to pass. Her gaze flits between her brother and the green suitcase, and she furrows her brow in thought. “You motherfucker,” she laughs suddenly, things falling together for her, finally. Dennis quirks an eyebrow at her but she ignores it. “I know exactly what’s going on here, you asshole.”

“I should sure hope so,” Dennis says, eyes following her as she makes her way over to the shore. “I haven’t exactly been subtle, up to this point.”

Dee waves her hand at him dismissively as she squats down beside the suitcase, cold mud seeping into her flats. “Oh, get off it. You don’t have a body in here, come on. I’m not an idiot.” Her fingers trace the zipper chain around the suitcase, searching for the pull tab.

“That’s up for debate,” Dennis replies.

“Shove off. No, I did something to piss you off, months ago probably, and this is how you’re getting back at me, trying to freak me out. I bet you anything Charlie’s in here, ready to pop out or whatever as soon as I get this piece of shit open.” He fingers find and close around the tab, and looks over her shoulder at Dennis, hands on his hips and shitty smug smirk still plastered on his face. Her confidence fails to waver; they’ve been fucking with each other for years, she can sniff it out. “Any last words?”

He snorts. “How about ‘hurry up’?”

She rolls her eyes at his continued confidence. Asshole. “If you say so,” she says, casually pulling the zipper open and throwing the damn thing open and ready to prove that Dennis never really had the upper hand on her and—

She must have shrieked, she must still be shrieking, because the first thing Dennis does when she stumbles backwards and collides with him is to cover her mouth with his hand, and when the ringing in her ears fades she can hear him shushing her with far too much gentleness, too much compassion, too much goddamn care that she knows he doesn’t possess.

“Sweet Dee, Sweet Dee, Sweet Dee,” he hushes her. “I tried to warn you, you know I did. I’m about to take my hand off your mouth; you’ve got to promise you won’t continue to scream.”

Dee feels something cold and hard press into her back. She stiffens.

“Can you do that?”

She nods.

Dennis removes his hand and Dee lets out a shaky breath. “Oh, my god,” she says, the words just barely making it out. “Oh, holy shit, Dennis, you piece of shit.”

Dennis scoffs. “Please, Dee. I don’t need your morality lecture.”

“My _morality lecture_?” She shoots back, voice high with panic. “I just saw a _body_ without _skin_ because you put it there!”

“You don’t think I did the right thing?” He asks, voice teasing.

“ _No_ , I don’t think you did the right goddamn thing, _Dennis_.”

Dennis clicks his tongue. “That’s a shame, I really thought we might have had a chance to team up together, turns this venture into a family bonding sort of experience.”

“Jesus,” Dee breathes, feeling the barrel of the gun dig harder into her back. “You cannot be serious.”

She feels Dennis shrug against her. “Does it matter? The moment’s kind of passed, Dee.”

Dee would love to refer to the risk she takes as “calculated,” and in all fairness she will later, in talk show interviews and radio broadcast conversations, embellishing the flattering details and downplaying the mud in her hair and on her face. Truthfully, there is about as much thought put into it as there is in everything else in her life. She figures: either she’ll let Dennis kill her lying down, or she’ll try to get one last swing in before everything falls apart.

She steps hard on his foot, wishing she had made the impractical decision of wearing heels, but it catches him off guard enough for her to land a sharp elbow into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He staggers back and she turns to face him, watches him clutch his gut with one hand and the gun loosely dangle from his other. It’s one of Frank’s, she noticed distantly. Dennis will have to clue her in on how he managed to snag it, she finds herself thinking, like an old habit.

“You bitch,” he wheezes out. “You’re gonna regret that.”

She watches him right his grip on the gun and the very act clears her head. She lets the momentum of the moment carry her as she throws herself at him, tackling him to the ground, and he goes down like he was just waiting for her to do it. The gun goes skittering out of his hand and he scrambles to right himself, struggling under her to grab at it, but she keeps him pinned down by the throat, unsure of what else to do, squeezing without a plan.

“You fucking idiot,” she chokes out. A breeze on her face tells her that she’s been crying, unsure of when she started. His wide eyes turn their attention to her, any smugness gone. “Goddamnit, Dennis. You horrible fucking moron.”

 

* * *

 

Ronald “Mac” McDonald was found in the apartment he shared with Reynolds thirty minutes after Deandra Reynolds called 911. He was found zip-tied to the radiator and unconscious, blood streaks on the hardwood floor to match the blood seeping through the crude bandage wrapped around his leg. There are worse things to survive than severe blood loss and blunt force trauma to the head.

_A bloated corpse with a slit throat found in the bathtub._

_Strips of human skin hung in a closet like garments._

_Three blood-stained mud-caked suitcases filed into evidence._

Yes, there are worse things to survive.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh one last shout out to my main man peewee gaskins for being the loose inspiration for the last act of this bitch. love ya you short little idiot
> 
> hail satan!


End file.
